A Prat's Tale
by TrixyTootie
Summary: Ron has spent the summer working at WWW, and everyone thinks that they know why. Little do they know, little Ronnie has a plan to get back at everyone. Mostly Hermione and Vicky. Oh yes.
1. Ha, Just Sending Letters?

**A/N: Harry Potter and Co. belogs to JK Rowlings. **

It wasn't a serious problem, you could tell that. Actually, it wasn't a problem, period. It was a misunderstanding that was now beyond recognition or redemption. Sometimes things are said and, well, **done**, that makes you really take into account what a person is really like. And this was one se times. Well, in Ron's opinion at least.

So what if Hermione hadn't actually _told_ him? Y'know, about fourth year about her making out like a harlot with Krum behind Harry's and his own back? He would've pretended not to listen anyway, so it wasn't like he'd have reacted that badly and started belittiling her. Okay maybe he might've a little, but only because he cared for her well-being. She must have figure he would have, seeing as she hadn't told him anything. Not a single word in edge-wise, despite the little "just writing a letter to Krum" with a sickly sweet tone. She was so in love with him, and she wouldn't just admit it, and get off the fence. And, a letter. Ha, it was more like a bloody novel the way she sat so elegantly perched on the couch, her nose held up so high you could've landed a broom in her nostrils. She was too cocky about her writing. It wasn't that great. She used too many big important words to make any sense of, but the teachers still worshiped her used pieces of gum and tissues like they were the fountains of knowledge.

"I bet, in the real world she'll just be lonely and helpless with a quill and parchment, worrying about whether a teacher could help her." Ron lamented in his mind. He knew, after school, that he, Hermione and Harry probably would never see each other again, ever. It almost always happened like that. Everyone knew that, so it wasn't like they would be any different. Maybe he and Harry would still be friends, but he doubted that much, with all his saving-the-world duties, he'd be too busy for poor, little Ron Weasley.

"He'll probably be off after Voldermort and having big bashes with loads of people he doesn't even know. All big and special. Stupid git." Ron mused, his mouth contorting slightly. Well, Harry hadn't done anything and he knew that Harry wouldn't have done any of what he thought he would, but he had to have something to clutch to. He wouldn't be so desperate to actually ask his brothers for work in their store. Oh right, he didn't have to work ever, probably. And he didn't have brothers. Ron felt a little annoyed at himself now, but was woken up to the dinging of the bell.

Ron's arms fell to his sides almost as though they had fallen off. Slightly dazed he turned back around to the student that was dinging that stupid little bell. "What did you want again?" Ron questioned, kneading his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"I wanted;" The boy began, as he listed an almost impossible amount of jokes as though it were his school supplies list, but twice as big. "And hurry up, I have to leave soon." He added, narrowing his bulbous blue eyes at Ron.

This was the ultimate betrayal to his own image. His image being a sea green-colored tie, orange shirt with white stripes and a maroon vest, with 'WWW' emblazed on it. Oh, how he wanted to set what he was wearing on fire, though he doubted that would go down too well with Fred and George.


	2. Not A 'People Person', Are You?

**A/N: Ron really hasn't been emotion-sensitive. This is why he doesn't make the best people person. Ah well, Ron and C. to Jk.**

Of course, Ron countered this, shifting his striped sleeves slightly. He mimicked the boys voice under his breath as he retrieved item after item, each one seeming heavier and heavier as he held them. Or maybe it just felt that way. No dungbomb could weigh that much.

"Oh ferget it." The boy huffed, banging the counter on his way out. The door rang out in a dull thud, which signalled the apprehensive appearance of the twins' mops of hair.

"What was that?" Fred questioned, his body appearing.

"I believe that was an angry customer. Again." George added, only showing a hint of annoyance.

"Look, I didn't do anything, he just got annoyed that I was take so long with the jokes. It was his fault." Ron told the two, his eyes diverted to the floor as if he had a secret vendetta with it, though it was a floor that hadn't done anything.

"Ron, I doubt that you are really the kind of employee we want greeting out customers." Fred said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. There wasn't any problem with Ron, he was just very spacious lately. He'd really lost the vibrancy of his youth, and was now in the self-pitying teenage phase, that both Fred and George were sure they had skipped.

"Fine by me," Ron said, shrugging off the stupid violently maroon vest the twins had made him endure throughout his entire time behind the counter.

"Just go and stack some Skiving Snackboxes and pack the Wizard Wands up in their boxes. Remember-" Fred began.

"Twelve to a medium box. But six to a small box. Packets shouldn't contain more than 3 unless-" George continued, but Ron had heard it all before, and now it was just patronising.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not stupid." Ron pouted slightly, as his brothers snorted at this. Fred softly nudged him toward the storeroom, just beyond the purple veil that lie in the dark recesses of the store. Why did everyone pity him and make him feel like an idiot? He wasn't. He knew it. Harry never treated him like an idiot, but he wished he could say the same for his other so-called 'best friend', Hermione. She never missed a chance to comment on how much she knew and how little he did. Or how he was a complete idiot for forgetting a piece of Billywig or something trivial like that. He really didn't want to go back to school. He knew he had to though. That was the problem. Both Fred and George never had to do anything, because no one expected them to do anything. Well, no one expected him to do anything either, but he was the one that people commented on,

'_What has Ron done lately?_' the voice high-pitch and whinging, like so many of his relatives.

'_He became Prefect and was on the Quidditch Team_.' He could hear his mother's voice counter, proudly.

'_Oh like Percy and Bill then? How are they?_' The voice changed the topic so quickly, even at the thought he got whiplash.

And that was all that was ever said about Ron. He was sure. Maybe he was too into this 'self-pity' that had suddenly cropped up against the happy exterior of his previous self. Actually, every year since being at Hogwarts his ego had become more and more bruised, and his opinions were regarded less and less, or were too stupid to even acknowledge.


	3. Girls Have No Compassion, Honestly

**A/N: Ah... I always hated re-stocking shelve, but not as much as serving people. Don't worry, Malfoy does have a plan later. Now he's just making trademark cameos. Jk owns them all!**

Ron finished the wands and went out, his arms laden with several boxes of them to re-stock the shelves with. That was something he could do, was be the one to help replace things that had disappeared. Well, only if he felt like it. He knew he was really heartless sometimes and a total prat, but he didn't really care honestly. Emotions were overrated anyway. More of a feminine sort of thing really. He knelt down to place a few boxes into where they were supposed to go. People kept walking past, several kneeing him in the head and muttering apologies he wasn't sure he was even going to accept. One person kicked a box, almost on purpose and when he looked up, he could see why.

"Not to sound like I care, but honestly Weasley no need to bow to me." The voice droned, but a hint of malice trailed along after his words.

"Bugger off Malfoy. I really don't want to have to deal with you." Ron said, standing up, a box of wands clutched in his hand. Several of the tips were poking out slightly, through the hardened grip of aggressive tendency.

"Oh, is little weasel, busy? Working?" He let out a laugh, which sounded a lot harsher than laughs should be, "How trivial. But I suppose, you and Mudblood need a nice little bin, don't you?" Malfoy simply smirked after this and kept on his way, with a casual jingle in his pocket as galleons hit galleons. Something was wrong, seeing as Malfoy never just walked off, in the six or seven years he had known him. Usually he cursed him, or caused bodily harm or mental harm to him. He **never** just walked off. Well come to think of it, it was more of a strut. Whatever, he wasn't going to get technical over how the twit walked. Ron merely shrugged, and knelt back down to pick up the rest of the boxes, and then to place them back in storage just so he wouldn't have to put them on the shelves. Plus, he could get a sandwich or some ice-cream, he was due for a break, or he'd report the twins for slave labour. He snorted, regally, thinking of Hermione how she would say things about the poor wittle innocent house-elves. Nasty little creatures, he couldn't see the reason to fight for their rights. Laughable, really. Ron sniggered to himself.

"Excuse me, where are the Snackboxes?" A voice asked trying to break through the barrier between subconscious and customer service.

Ron plodded toward the door, his mouth already ordering what he wanted. "Banana and Strawberries perhaps…" he mused, a hand rubbing his chin for a moment. He looked to his side to see a girl with rough features staring at him in confinement, "What?"

"The Snackboxes." She said curtly, her eyebrows furrowing together in an agreement of anger.

"How the heck should I know?" Ron countered, "Why ask me, I'm on break." He claimed, continuing toward the door. Really, girls these days had no compassion. Always about them. Never took into account what he might've been doing, it's always what they want and they have to have it instantly. How selfish.

"Well, if that's the way you treat your customers, you just lost yourself one."

"Like I care!" He called after the girl, who had some issues. Ron scrunched up his eyes angrily, his mouth contorting into a pained crease in his face. He had heard two sets of footsteps coming toward him, and then two equally exasperated sighs.

"It wasn't my fault. You know how women are." Ron pressed on obviously not joking or pretty sure he wasn't lying, as he continued to glare at the door furiously. He didn't wait for their responses, as he walked out the door, stripping the shirt off, and revealing a t-shirt with a Chudley Canons t-shirt screaming out against the black robes and dark clothing. He'd forgotten to snatch his robes after exiting the stupid joke store. Wasn't his fault that girl had gotten so overly dramatic. It was _her fault _because she was staring at him like a bloody dog looking for a meal. Through a nervous habit he'd picked up during the summer, he began roughly cracked his knuckles, trying to fix his eyes on where his feet were leading him. A small child and mother hurried in front of him, the child kicking a screaming, and dragging it's heels in the ground. The child kicked and thrashed at his mother several times, before breaking away from her and running away crying about a toy or broom or something. She hurried past Ron and basically slapped him across the stomach, face and other regions with her bags. Ron let out a few curse words through his twisted mouth, which made a man come over and begin to lecture him the same way Hermione had always done to him in his earlier years at school.

This day just wasn't going that well.

Back at work, things were _remotely _better. At least there weren't any kids throwing tantrums or people lecturing him. After another 5 gruelling hours at work, Ron was let free by his brothers and his hands were all too glad. Several paper cuts lie in several illogical intervals on his palms and in-between fingers, as he had been dealing with the bloody self-forging letters. He really couldn't actually sum up how annoyed he was, from over nine hours of thought and work, it made him physically and mentally tired in many ways. This time, he had remembered his robes so made his way out of the store, hands clutching onto his pay like it was the cure to all of his problems. Actually, it might be, the way things were going.


	4. Big Teeth, Hair and Noses Who Talk Weird

**A/N: Last wholey self-pitiying chapter for a while! Jk owns them all. I own the plot, sadly :P**

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Ron had watched Hermione go from school. Little did he know that, that summer she and her family were once again, going on a trip around the 'world'. She didn't act it, but Hermione was practically rich. Not as much as Harry, but she got the best books and clothes and perfumes, not that Ron knew about the last one… No, why would he notice she gave off the hint of flowers that grew half way around the world? It wasn't fair. No, not that HE wanted the perfume but - But, back to the trip, he only found out from Ginny, (who hadn't directly told him), that she was going to Bulgaria. And this, this was something Ron would not stand for. He knew that in her fourth year that Hermione had gone out with and…snogged Krum. It sickened him to think about, but it was true. He knew it, because Ginny had screamed it at him. 

As though he had, had his heart wrenched out viciously by a girl who was now, currently, fondling the oaf's nose like it was the bee's knees - oh Gods, he needed some friends his age. "Oh, it's not the bad." He mimicked her voice as best he could, before suddenly loosing his footing on the old worn-down stairs and slipping a few steps down. Fine, he missed her. Fine, he really did care if she was out with that seeker. He did care if she wasn't within arm's length, and always would. So he just sat halfway up the stairs staring at the thread-bare carpet that barely provided much in the way of decent footing. There wasn't anything he could do now. He didn't know where the hell Vicky-tickums lived, or where Hermione had gone to stay or anything. Self-pity was slowing being taken over by anger and frustration. He didn't want her with Krum. He could almost guarantee that after school, she and Krum would be flying off into the sunset, arms all over each other, and babbling in Bulgarian. he laughed as he then imagined a hippogryff swooping past and snatching Krum and ripping his head off. Not violent or anything. Pfft. And anyway, Ron wouldn't have found out if Ginny hadn't told him. **_He_** wasn't important enough to find out things from the person directly, only Ginny took pity on him and told him things. Ron stood up, his arms crossed and his ears red, and continued up the stairs to the top floor, where his room was.

Without hesitation, Ron was on his bed, glaring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out where the hell Hermione could be, or more where the hell was Krum. "No. I don't care. Hermione didn't tell me because she doesn't care enough to tell me, obviously." Ron said to himself, sitting up and uncrossing his arms. A click from behind the door indicated that someone was set on ruining this train of thought.

"Ron, dinner's ready." Ginny announced sticking her head in. "Are you crying?" She questioned, in an awkward voice, making nervous grabs at her hair, trying to push it behind her ear.

"What? No. Just annoyed." Ron glared at her, and knew he wasn't. He shot a glare at her. "I'm not hungry." Ron muttered darkly. He wasn't. He'd eaten before he got home. Ron really didn't feel like going down to dinner, where everyone was so cheery and bright, laughing about their day. Not having to worry about the person they love – one of their best friends, was making attempts to cosy up to some ugly, brawny Seeker from some lame team he hated. Oh, how he hated them... Ron looked back to the door where Ginny was hovering on words she couldn't form,

"It's about Hermione again, isn't it? Look, she doesn't like Krum. I would know." Ginny glared slightly as Ron scoffed.

"No, no. Don't cover. She and Krum are going to have bushy-haired, big teethed, big nosed kids that waddle and speak with big, weird words that no one will understand. And they'll probably be whiney and boring too... No, I'm not angry." Ron spat, throwing together the two worst traits of both of the offenders of his bad mood. "Bet they'll probably be a crime against nature, or something… Probably throw themselves in a lake, knowing their parents are the biggest pair of gits ever. I know I would."

"Ron, get over it. It's not the end of the world if Hermione **does** like Krum, would that be so bad?" Ginny proposed, not really convicing Ron in the slightest.

"Are you kidding?" Ron got up and walked over the door, ready to usher his sister out of his room, so he could return to thinking about Hermione Jr. and Krum Jr. being attacked by the same hippogryff that killed their dad. "It's about as bad as if you liked Malfoy or if Harry liked Voldermort or-" Ron's face contorted slightly at the thought of Ginny and Malfoy or Harry and Voldermort, "Just bugger off." He said, shoving her out the door and went back to sitting on his bed, in the low esteem he'd just received from Ginny, _"Ron, get over it. It's not the end of the world if Hermione DOES like Krum," _"She couldn't like Krum. Not after how jealous she got because I was going out with Lavender. She did like him at one stage for some reason, but then she didn't anymore. Maybe she was just getting revenge for something I did." Ron pondered.

He had to get out of self-pity. He needed something or someone to get his mind off the whole Hermione issue he was having at the moment. Maybe he could go find Lavender again… No, she probably wouldn't be too happy with him. Well, he was already out of options, so a new plan had to be formed. Then it clicked.

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**Reviews? Please and thank you! I won't update till I get something  
**


	5. AUTHOR NOTE

I've moved to a different account, and all updates for this story will be over there, if anyone is interested.

**- Scaldabanco**


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